What They Don't Want You to Know
by Nightsmoke
Summary: Six things the Varia won't tell you. Chapters alternate between dark/light, rated T for language.
1. Bel: Rudimentary

Summary: Each Varia member has things that they would rather keep to themselves. A combination of light/dark chapters, alternating.

All characters © Amano Akira

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_**What They Don't Want You to Know**_

_Secret #1: Bel doesn't know as much as he says he does._

Belphegor knew many things. After all, he was a genius, right?

Joining the Varia at the unripe age of eight, he had never needed to go to school. That was fine, though. His reading speed was up to five hundred words per minute. He was proficient in Italian and Japanese, and knew over 2,000 Kanji characters by the age of ten.

After all, he was a genius, right?

Bel knew the exact diameter to swing his knives at so that they would pop through the left ventricle of the heart. Thirty degrees higher at a distance of 2.05 meters would have them puncturing the jugular. Throwing a string of knives point facing up would cause, approximately, a 36 percent more chance of hemorrhaging.

Bel knew these things, because he was a genius. And genii planned ahead, genii strategically predicted others' movements, genii knew everything.

Genii were not meant to be taken by surprise.

"Lussuria? What—"he had to clear his throat, as his tones were pathetically gravelly—"are you doing?"

"Your hair'll be a little longer, but at least you'll live," Lussuria sniffed, watching as his box peacock closed up the wounds. "Next time tell us if you get cut, alright? Then Bel-chan wouldn't be like this~"

Belphegor glanced down at his forearm. Necrosis, infection, the rapidly fading stench of mild gangrene. He knew the symptoms, because he was a genius.

But there was something he didn't understand, which contradicted his cranial and royal greatness.

"Why are you healing it?"

Lussuria pouted and responded with another question. "Would Bel-chan rather die?"

"Of course not," he snapped. All traces of coy humor had vanished, and he was left feeling very, very stupid.

He had felt stupid once before, all those years ago at the ring battles. Bel couldn't use his statistics to explain the look in the Vongola's eye, when his teammates were hurt. Then the feeling began to recur, like a yearly cold sometimes would. There were those bothersome patches in his memory that his intellectual prowess couldn't fill.

Why Squalo had cut off his left hand: unknown.

Why Levi worked so hard for the boss's approval, even now: unknown.

The force that kept them from killing one another over the years: unknown.

Devotion to Xanxus: unknown.

The fact that the tradition of eating holiday dinners together still held: unknown.

His reasons for making Fran wear that itchy frog-hat redolent of the original mist guardian: unknown.

It takes three minutes and twenty seconds for the lungs to fill with blood, but Belphegor didn't know how long it took for Mammon to bandage his knee when he fell. He knew every carnage-related word that ever existed in the dictionary, but he didn't know how to ask Xanxus how much he owed him for the new pair of boots. There were 218 throwing knives in his back pocket, yet he didn't know how many tiles were on the ceiling of his very own room that the Varia had given him.

Belphegor didn't know many things. After all, people weren't numbers, or clocks, and all the genius in the world couldn't tell him why Lussuria was sealing his infected arm.

Adjusting his tiara with his good hand, Bel sat up. He looked through the other's tinted shades from behind his bangs.

"Why did you bother?"

"Hmm…" Lussuria placed an index finger to his smooth cheek where it left a tiny indentation in his skin. "I don't feel like answering that~"

"Tch. Disgusting homo fag."


	2. Levi: Intonation

Summary: Each Varia member has things that they would rather keep to themselves. A combination of light/dark chapters, alternating.

All characters © Amano Akira

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_**What They Don't Want You to Know**_

_Secret #2: Levi has a rather loud hobby.  
_

The Varia headquarters were cool and welcoming, but it did little to improve Levi's mood. Every square inch of his persona was covered in either a) sweat, b) dirt, c) blood, or d) dirt-and-blood combo. The others were in bad shape as well, but Levi had gotten the worst of it when a mafia agent had tackled him in a quagmire. Damn the weather for having just rained.

As they walked in, Bel flopped his bangs around uncomfortably. They were stained red, making his hair look like some hideous dye-job gone wrong. Squalo had a gash running up one arm that looked worse off than it actually was because of all the mud smeared around it. Even Mammon's mantle was torn and grass-stained, despite any illusions of cleanliness he may have had over his body.

All in all, they looked and felt disgusting.

But they were men, nature's sex that was meant at times to get down and dirty. Besides, shit washes off, right?

Well, it would now. It was shower time.

With the exception of Gola Mosca, the six Varia trudged to their respective rooms with that intent, too fatigued to speak or bicker much, even on Squalo's part. Levi knew this was the only opportunity he had, so he waited in his room until he was positive that the others had commenced their showers before beginning his.

He unzipped and stepped out of his Varia uniform, not liking the way it peeled off of his sweaty skin. In his shower, Levi turned the knobs all the way to the left until a jet of compressed hot water shot out of the showerhead. And oh, did it feel good. It felt so good, in fact, that…

_"…Life has been good to me…got very few complaints so far…"_

He lathered some shampoo into his dark hair and rubbed it around.

_"I got the blue sky every mornin', big yellow moon at night…I always do whatever I want to…"_

Levi liked the echo his voice made as it reverberated off of the porcelain tiles. It made his tones sophisticated and operatic-sounding: almost like boss's, only a little less crass. He began to wash out the shampoo after a few minutes of lathering, taking his time, and started to scrub at the dirt and blood that was slowly but surely coming off.

"_...and everything I do, it always turns out riiiiiggghhhtt…"_

Oh god, that water just felt so good on his knotted back.

"_HEY, HEY—doo doo-doo, doo doo-doo, HEY, HEY—doo doo-doo, doo doo-doo, HEY, HEY--"_

Downstairs, Belphegor and Squalo were ensconced on the sofa with clean towels around their heads and their feet bare.

"Ya think he's a baritone?" Bel grinned, jabbing a thumb to the ceiling.

"Vooiiii, he's definitely a bass," Squalo argued. "Where the hell's Lussuria with that sound recorder?"

Bel couldn't help himself, and giggled. "He's already up there outside Levi's room." Squalo gave a nod of approval, something rarely seen from someone of his explosive caliber.

"Heh, he's pretty damn good." Whether that was referring to Levi's singing or Lussuria's recording ability was left to the imagination.

"Ushishi~ maybe we can give the tape to American Idol, or something."

In the end they ended up sending it to the boss for his birthday.

.

* * *

_Lyrics are from Randy Newman's Life Has Been Good to Me._


	3. Lussuria: Eight Points of Contact

A/N: Here's Lussuria's chapter. It was hard to write dark for him, so I took a few liberties. "Eight Points of Contact" refers to Muay Thai.

All characters © Amano Akira

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**_What they don't want you to know_**

_Secret #3: There's a reason to why Lussuria can never love a woman._

[_Two elbows._]

Squalo nudges Lussuria in the ribs after a rather lewd comment he has made, hard enough to bruise. Lussuria doesn't mind though. The pain is dull, like the bite of an insect… sharp enough to be annoying, but not enough to really hurt. And it's nothing compared to what he's had Before.

He remembers _her_ from Before. She would jab him in the soft parts between his ribs, in the small of his back, and sometimes right on the hard nubs of bone. It hurt a lot then, Before, when those bones were still small and easily breakable like fine china.

[_Two knees._]

Lussuria looks at his reflection in his lap. The steel plate on his kneecap is a comforting weight on his leg, and he grins, thoughts wandering to memories of Before.

He remembers how scary it was to not be able to breathe, after she had jammed a knee into his gut. Then he had tried to talk, to say "stop," but another knee had swung up with deadly accuracy before he could utter a sound.

[_Two fists._]

"Damnit!" the Vongola sun guardian swears, squinting in the blinding light of the arena. He isn't used to being inconvenienced by a loss of vision. Lussuria is though, but thankfully this time he's got his sunglasses.

He didn't have them Before, when her hands would claw at his eyes, sometimes punching or sometimes splayed with the intention to rip. He recalls sitting in the dark for days afterwards—only it wasn't dark at all, he just had bandages over his eyes as they healed. Since Before his eyes have been permanently damaged, and he can't see a thing without his prescribed shades. Others think they're for show, a topping on his gaudy attire like a spoiled cherry on sour ice cream. But behind them, his eyes, the sclera, the pupils, the irises: they are filmy and scratched.

[_Two shins._]

When Xanxus doesn't like someone, he has a habit of trying to humiliate them in the most degrading way possible. More than one member of the Varia has gotten a food condiment thrown at him, or if they are unfortunate, something of messier nature. But his favorite method is to trip them as they walk by, which Lussuria agrees is one of the classier ways to get the message across. It's humiliating to have your own weight be your downfall.

_She_ would kick at his shins and he would collapse, unable to dodge in time. Sometimes the muscles would bruise, and afterwards he would have to crawl whenever he needed to use the washroom.

_But mommies are supposed to love their sons_, he'd wanted to say. _Mommies…mommies don't hurt their sons_.

But that was Before. Before the mafia, before the Varia, before Lussuria was even a man. Now Before doesn't matter. But, there are things that Before left on him. Smelly things.

Lussuria looks at a pretty Italian girl as she sashays by. Squalo whistles rudely, and she turns up her nose and quickens her pace in response. Lussuria pushes his sunglasses up and looks away.

There is no way he can let a woman inside of him. He isn't afraid of being hurt, really, but of the touch…what if it is just like _hers?_ What if there is no difference, between Before and Now?

No, he can never do it. He can't let anything redolent of her make its way in, or the line between pleasure and terror will become too nebulous for Lussuria to tell the difference. In every woman's face, in their slender hands, rolling hips, and curvy calves, he sees her. In his line of business there is little speak of love, but he knows that he will never feel it for any of them.

There is something comforting in a male touch; somehow it can be so much gentler than a woman's. He can finally be free of Before to mend the After to improve the Now. So when the others call him a fag or a fruitcake, Lussuria only chuckles.


	4. Squalo: Primavera

Thank you for all of the reviews, those who read! I really appreciate it (maybe I should do one of these for the Vongola too...nah, it's too fun to pick on these guys~)

All characters © Amano Akira

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**_What they don't want you to know_**

_Secret #4: Squalo has a spring affliction._

Living on the undershell of society made life spicier, like sprinkling herbs onto your favorite pasta dish. Although the Varia were young—still children, they were taken under the wing of the Vongola, the Ninth. Thanks to him, they were able to bypass the normal education laws and could pay their future taxes under clever pseudonyms. They even had life insurance.

These facts made registering for public transportation easy, but the Varia preferred to travel by foot or by car to explore the scenic route. It was not that they enjoyed nature, but rather that they would be less tempted to kill someone on the road than in a crowed train (excluding one another). Besides, traveling separately they would receive fewer questions about where a group of young teenagers such as themselves were going, and with an "infant" and an eight-year old tagging along to boot.

So naturally, instead of a two-hour train ride, the Varia opted for lengthier means of transportation via taxi to Naples, where their next assignment lay. The taxi finally let them off on the outskirts of the city—the frazzled driver not even caring how many Euros were mashed into his palm. He didn't bother counting them, thankful he still had his life.

With the Italian sun beating down on them, the Varia walked toward the city. They seldom spoke, so when Lussuria broke the silence everyone looked up.

"Oh, my! It's _fabulous_~!"

Ahead lay a vast field, lush and green save for the sporadic clusters of color that signified the crops of various flowers and plants growing. Xanxus sighed, wiping sweat from the warm spring day off of his brow.

Lussuria was positively glowing. "I want to pick some dai-sies! I want to pick some dai-sies!" he sang, quickening his pace.

"Voooiii, think again homo-fag," Squalo growled. The humidity was making him irritable, and this fruitcake wasn't helping to improve his mood. "We're going around it."

"Hold it," Xanxus said, then sixteen and impudent as ever. "I'm the leader here, and I say if we go around it or not." Squalo's gray eyes held some unreadable expression, but he merely jutted out his bottom lip and blew some flaxen bangs from his forehead.

Lussuria rubbed his knees together. "Through the field is the quickest way to Naples, right? Oh please, boss!"

"I want an iced coffee," Bel exclaimed from behind him. Just the thought of the cool drink made up Xanxus's mind.

"Fine. Let's go."

Squalo's eyes widened. "But—"

The Varia leader hit Squalo upside the head in a move that would have put the three stooges to shame. "Do you have a problem with that, trash?"

"No, Xanxus," Squalo sighed, rubbing his head. "Vooiiiiii…" But oh, did he.

So they trudged through the shrubbery and tall grass of the field. Twice, Levi got a bur caught in his hair and an unfortunate crow mistook Mammon for its mate. Lussuria went gamboling through the plants as happy as could be, picking up marigolds, bluebells, and other various floral décor.

Squalo was uncharacteristically quiet, scowling and walking slightly behind the group. Lussuria saw this and pranced over with his hand-picked bouquet.

"Mahh~ Squalo, aren't these pretty?"

"Get those fucking things away from me," Squalo spat.

"Why?" Lussuria questioned, waving the posy around. "They're just plants—they won't hurt you."

"Voiii, I'm telling you to take your stupid ass-plants and go away!"

Lussuria frowned, noticing that Squalo's eyes were watering. "What's the matter, Squalo?" he blinked. "Are you crying because of nature's beauty?"

For such a remark Lussuria would have found himself incapacitated for a week, but Squalo merely wrinkled his nose and ignored him, trodding on weeds as he walked along. He couldn't trust himself to speak yet.

Levi threw a glance at Squalo, who looked as if he was biting hard on the inside of his bottom lip with his molars.

"Squalo?"

He turned away, but not before Levi saw his nose twitching and a tear rolling down his face. "Mind your own business," Squalo snapped, aware that opening his mouth was a big mistake. Nevertheless, he just had to punctuate his exclamation with his trademark phrase. It didn't quite work: "VoooiiiII_IIAAAATCHU!"_

Lussuria got such a shock that he dropped his bouquet of flowers. Bel and Mammon turned around, Xanxus's scowl deepened. Levi jumped, as if goosed. "What the _hell_ was that?"

Squalo glared at his team perniciously. It was less menacing than intended, as both his eyes and his nose were dusted pink. "Id was duthing," he sniffed.

"Ushishishi~" Bel cackled, looking highly amused that Squalo's sneezes were even louder than his "voi's" were. "One more time!"

"Shut the fuck u—u…_CHOO!" _

By the time they crossed the field, Levi had counted 47 sneezes in total. Squalo was looking none too pleased. His eyes were watery and his ability to pronounce certain consonants in the Italian alphabet had completely deserted him. Bel and Lussuria, on the other hand, were humoring themselves.

"It's hard to picture the words 'Squalo' and 'hayfever' in the same sentence," Lussuria chuckled, as they made their way through Naples. "We should fill his room w—"

A cool blade at his throat interrupted the end of that sentence. "Oi, you wad to fidish that?"

"Mou, how scary~ what will you do, sneeze on me?"

"Will you guys stop it?" Mammon asked coolly. He looked at his map. "We're almost at the place."

So the Varia headed on to their destination. Squalo had begun to make painful snirking sounds in order to clear his nose, but everyone was too hot to pass a snide comment. When they arrived at the building, Xanxus reached into his pocket and thrust a bottle at Squalo.

"Maybe this will shut you up," he told him, breezing by and welcoming the shade provided by being indoors.

"Benadryl?" Squalo looked incredulously at the bottle, not because of the bottle itself but because of who gave it to him.

"Xanxus, how long have you…?"

But the boss had disappeared, leaving Squalo standing in the parlor silently contemplating just how much Xanxus knew about his subordinates.


	5. Mammon: Patience

A/N: Mammon was...difficult to write for. He does nothing for me (yet), and there was not much to say about him. This chapter is kind of like the calm before the storm, which will be guess who in the final chapter. ^^

All characters © Amano Akira

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**_What they don't want you to know_**

_Secret #5: Mammon feels his physical form is a hindrance._

_.  
_

As a master of illusions, Mammon is frustrated that he can't even break the one over his own body.

He is older than all of them, but yet no one calls him 'senpai,' or 'san' when speaking in Japanese. Instead, it's either "hey you," or "baby," if he's lucky at all.

The only reason he solely uses illusions in battle is because he can't kill with his own hands. They are too small. Sometimes they clench into tiny fists, longing to wield something larger (and more lethal) than a spoon, or to crush a skull until it shatters into sparkling white bone splinters.

The only reason he has to wake up Fantasma and tire him out with his halo is because he can't reach the top cupboard in the kitchen. He stands 40 centimeters tall, hardly towering enough to grasp what he wants.

"I'm sorry, Fantasma," he whispers to the tiny exhausted frog, when no one else is around to hear.

The only reason he leaves the group announcements to Squalo is because his voice sounds too tinny, too feminine, and can easily become a whine. It is the voice of this form and is what comes out of its near-vestigial lungs.

Mammon tires of this appearance, this one illusion that he can't dispel. Just wait until he breaks the Arcobaleno curse, and they all see how beautiful his true body is. Then they will all be paying him to touch it. His dark hair that's silkier than Lussuria's, his skin that's snowier than Squalo's. And a voice that's a hundred times smoother than Bel's could ever hope to be.

In the comfort of his room, Mammon tries to cast an illusion on himself—one that would make him taller and his limbs longer. It doesn't work, and he plops down onto his bed, exhausted. He hardly makes a dent on the covers.

Mammon wants to look people in the eye when they speak to him. He wants to be able to reach that top shelf, where the hidden treasures and secrets only known to the tall people lie. He wants to command in a voice stronger than steel and to be taken seriously upon a first glance. Sadly, frustratingly, only his shadow gives away his true build.

Although a fake god, he _is_ a god nonetheless. People should be looking _up_ to him, not down at a vertically-challenged form barely visible over the nose. You look down your nose at _scum_, since gods usually stand well over 40 centimeters high. And he is anything _but_ scum, in his opinion. The curse of the Arcobaleno is his biggest hindrance that even the thickest wad of cash can't satisfy.

So Mammon waits, as the years pass, as his pacifier glows impatiently behind its tiny fetter.

Would they still call him "baby," then, when he emerged, taller than Bel, with all of his physical impediments gone and his power at its peak?


	6. Xanxus: Inept

This is the final chapter. Thank you everyone, for your comments!

All characters © Amano Akira

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**_What They Don't Want You To Know_**

_Secret #6: Xanxus has trouble with domestic appliances._

_.  
_

Levi's singing was not the only reason the Varia gleefully anticipated what Lussuria coined "shower hour" at headquarters. No, it meant that all of the leather Varia uniforms got washed, including Gola Mosca's. Hygiene was not especially important to them, but admittedly it _did _feel good to don clean apparel following a hot, steaming shower.

Like most of the chores, the job of doing laundry was rotated around the Varia. They did all of their uniforms together to avoid fighting for the washing machine (although the fighting was then shifted to who would actually _do_ the laundry).

Today Xanxus had agreed to do it.

The task of washing clothes had never befallen him prior to this afternoon—and not just because he had only been unfrozen for a month—but it somehow did by process of elimination. Everyone was either too injured or too busy to do it. Gola Mosca was not programmed to do such domestic tasks, so the boss found it his responsibility, temporarily of course. Even he did chores, which was surprising in and of itself—probably because he didn't trust anyone else to do the jobs assigned to him.

Xanxus wanted to get this done as quickly as possible. They had just returned from a long mission; his muscles ached, and he was tired. With this intention he passed by everyone's room to collect their uniforms.

"VOOIII, I'm getting it off already!" Squalo bellowed as Xanxus ripped the jacked from his sleeves. "Sheesh!"

In the Varia's basement, as Xanxus dropped the enormous pile of clothes into the washer, it occurred to him that he had never done laundry before.

"Tch." If he could kill a man in less than five minutes, he could certainly wash clothes. There were brief instructions coating the inside lid of the washing machine, but Xanxus did not need them. He knew the basics of laundry: put in clothes, add detergent, and press a goddamn button.

After stuffing the black clothes tightly into the machine, he reached for the detergent, huffing slightly from the effort of squishing so much into such a small space. He filled a cup and poured it in.

Xanxus paused then, staring at the uniforms. They were dirtier than he'd initially thought. Wet and dried blood stained most of them. There was something brown caking one of the suits that Xanxus didn't even want to know the identity of. Grass stains permeated most of the fabric as well.

He added another cup of detergent, and paused. A scowl flitted over his features and he finally picked up the bottle, pouring it all in. The liquid made a _glub-glub-glub_ sound as it sloshed thickly over the Varia's clothes. That should do it.

"Fucking piece of cake," Xanxus muttered contently as he slammed the washing machine's lid shut and turned it on.

--

About a half-hour later, Levi looked up from the book that he was reading. What had interrupted him from his literary bliss was the strangest sensation in his feet. They were shaking.

He blinked, and realized that his arms were shaking as well. Was it just him?

"THE _FUCK?"_

Maybe not.

Squalo rushed into the room after uttering that declaratory. "Vooiiii, earthquake?" he asked. Levi stood up, eyeing the ceiling warily.

"I don't think so," he said, as he and Squalo made their way out of the room and into the hall. "This seems more…concentrated." They'd no more than stepped into the corridor when they were greeted by a frantic Lussuria running towards them.

_"It's going to blooowww!"_ he shrieked as he zoomed past. They saw that his pants were covered with light blue suds and bubbles, all the way up to his thighs.

"Vooiiiii, what's going on?" Squalo hollered. To his dismay it was not Lussuria who answered his question, but a different sound.

**BOOM.**

--**  
**

When they could all hear again, the Varia ran downstairs to where the source of the explosion had occurred. It was hardly recognizable as the basement, as almost every square inch of the place was bathed in suds. Xanxus stood in the middle of it all looking like the world's most lethal snowman.

Lussuria and Levi's mouths hung open. A half-baked grin was snaking across Bel's face, and Mammon had pulled his hood down farther. Even Squalo was at a loss for words.

"O-oi. Xanxus, you…"

With an inarticulate roar, the boss gathered a flame in his hand and punched through the nearest wall. The rest of the Varia hastily made their exits lest they receive the same manner of blow.

Once they had put enough distance between themselves and Xanxus, arriving in the upstairs living room, it was surprisingly Squalo who first began to laugh. It started as a grin and a chuckle or two, or three, then guffaws, and finally tear-squeezing roars of unrestricted laughter.

The others stared, unaccustomed to their substitute leader displaying such blatant signs of amusement. Then Bel began to snigger. "Ushishishishi~"

Soon they were all hooting. Lussuria clutched his sides and Levi had to wipe his eyes at the corners. Even Mammon's face held a small smile.

The laughter petered off eventually, and the Varia returned to whatever it was they had been doing, still snorting. No one said a word, but none were really necessary. They all shared a silent understanding of the hilarity of what went on, and when Xanxus emerged from his shower later, every single one of them had to bite back a smile.

_The End._


End file.
